The Missing Link
by alexiaseventy-five
Summary: As Ginny returns to Hogwarts with the Trio for her fifth year, things are not always as they seem....
1. Default Chapter

**CHAPTER ONE**

Ginny lay awake in her bed at the Burrow and stared at the clock on her bedside table, willing its hand to move from "Too early" to "Time to get up". In just a few short hours she would be back on the Hogwarts Express, steaming towards a new year at school. Who knew what would happen before she was next under this roof? She was a Fifth Year now; not a prefect – a fact Fred and George were very proud of – but still, finally, a person of some importance. She would sit her O.W.L.s this summer (her stomach tightened with nerves already at the thought) and any decisions she made from now on would probably affect the rest of her life.

Ginny knew she had changed a lot over the summer. After the events of her first year at school she had always been a little more serious and introverted than the other girls her age that she knew, but even towards the end of her fourth year she had still been to all intents and purposes a child, both physically and in her black-and-white attitude to the world around her and the people she met. Now, as she swung her legs out of bed and padded over to the mirror to begin getting ready, a very different person to that girl approached her from the other side of the glass.

She had grown a few inches, and filled out, losing the half-starved, scarecrow look of a silly little girl scared of her own shadow. Her mother had finally allowed her to cut her hair (and was probably still crying over the pieces she had scooped up off the floor after Ginny had done it, she thought wryly), so that instead of the tangled mass of hair weighing her down and half-drowning her, Ginny had a style that, though still long, was more manageable; a style she felt almost proud of. It emphasised the new colour in Ginny's cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She no longer felt as though she was the after-thought in a long line of boys, walking one step behind them, and always in their shadows.

Who knew, she thought, as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, smoothing her hair into a ponytail, maybe one day they would be walking in her shadow?Maybe some of the other people at school might notice her existence too. Perhaps by the time she returned home for Christmas she would have had her first boyfriend; her first kiss? She grinned to herself, blushing a little even though she hadn't spoken out loud, and headed downstairs.

Although Ginny had thought it was still very early, it had obviously taken her longer to get ready than she thought, because Ron, Harry and Hermione were already sitting round the kitchen table with Mrs Weasley fussing over them. Harry, looking up when the door opened, and beginning to quickly clear a space for her at the table, put his elbow in the butter by accident. He blushed a little, and Ginny said nothing, smiling to herself as she remembered a time a few years ago when she had done exactly the same thing.

Taking her seat and helping herself to toast and jam, Ginny answered her mother's machine-gunned questions on autopilot. Yes, she was packed; yes, her trunk was locked; yes, it had her name on it clearly; yes, she knew where her wand was… Ginny mentally rolled her eyes; _Honestly, how old does she think I am? Sometimes I think Ron's right, and she's stuck in some parallel universe where I'm five forever! _

Soon Fred and George burst into the room, half dressed and running late as usual. They had been pushed into re-taking their final year by their mother, and by the time they had eaten, finished their haphazard packing and dressed themselves, they were all very close to being very late indeed.

After the customary mad dash to get to Platform 9 and ¾ on time, Ginny clambered onto the train with the others and found an empty compartment, before leaning out of the window and waving back at her mother as they pulled out of the station.

As soon as their mother was out of sight, Fred and George got up and left, muttering something about wanting to see Lee Jordan who, along with several members of the Quidditch team, had returned for one last year with the Weasley twins. Ginny was watching closely however, and saw Fred flash a package with something that looked suspiciously like the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo on it at Harry as they left.

Ginny had a sudden flash of comprehension. She hadn't been able to understand how her mother had managed to persuade the twins to give up their already successful business to return to school for one last year; now she realised that Mrs. Weasley hadn't done anything of the sort. They had simply gone underground again. Ginny guessed that if she were to go down that little side street in Diagon Alley where Fred and George had held their premises, she would find the shop still there, just without its usual pair of co-hosts.

_ They'd better just hope Mum doesn't go down there_, she thought to herself, smiling a little, as she settled back to watch the countryside flash by. She felt no urge to go and find the other girls in her year. They would probably all be sitting together in one of the compartments, comparing their summers, laughing and giggling. Somehow, though, no matter how hard they tried to include her, Ginny always felt a little apart from them all. If she wanted people to talk to, she generally hung around with "the Trio", as the younger students referred to Harry, Hermione and Ron. Of course, she mused, they were the Trio, not the Quartet, so she was never really part of whatever they were doing either – on the periphery certainly, but rarely in the thick of it, though after the events in the Department of Mysteries she felt closer to them than she had ever felt before.

Even so, they had been doing things like that ever since their first year, Ginny reminded herself, while she had still been living at the Burrow, firmly ensconced under Mrs. Weasley's wing, and this made Ginny feel hopelessly inexperienced compared to them. She still had nightmares about what had happened last summer, with terrible images of the alternate ending where the Death Eaters had won and they had all died, one by one. She had screamed herself awake on several occasions, before the gruesome finale, but on the others, she had been forced to watch it all, and had woken drenched in an icy sweat, silent and alone. The Trio had probably learnt to harden themselves against all that horror, but Ginny wasn't sure if she ever could. However much older she felt compared to the rest of her year, she still felt like a child compared to them.

She wasn't left to dwell on this thought for long though; Harry soon drew her into Ron, Hermione and his conversation and she laughed and chattered along with them, until, very quickly it seemed, they were donning their robes and disembarking.

Further down the train, Draco Malfoy coughed ostentatiously and waited for Crabbe and Goyle to move out of the way with his bags so that he could leave the train. He'd managed to give Pansy Parkinson the slip, but she had begun re-enacting her leech impression already. God, but he was getting very irritated by her! All summer, every other day, her bloody owl, with a pretty pink bow around its neck, (once she'd even charmed it so its feathers were patterned with hearts, though it hadn't looked any more impressed by this idea than Draco had been), had come winging its way to the Manor with another disgustingly soppy letter full of Pansy's non-doings. Honestly, Draco thought bitterly, it was no wonder she wrote so many of the damn things; she seemed to have nothing else to do! And everyone he met was so quick to congratulate him on such an excellent match – his father must be so proud! As if his father, a Malfoy, one of the last of the great wizarding families, would be grateful for his only son to be involved with a 'new' family like the Parkinsons. Sure, they were pureblood, which counted for something, but try and point out a Parkinson in the Domesday Book and what did you get? Peasants!

Draco stood for a moment on the step of the carriage and looked out over the crowd of Hogwarts students milling about on the platform. _Two more years_, he thought_, two more years and I can escape this place. No more forced association with people so far beneath me it becomes an insult that I have to eat in the same room as them. I'll be free, rich, licensed and powerful. What more could I want?_

Among the throng one witch, despite the drizzle dampening most people's spirits, suddenly threw back her head and laughed aloud, causing her hood to fall down to her shoulders. Her hair was a bright gleaming red; not orange but almost scarlet, it shone like a beacon among the black mass of the other students' robes. Her face too, while not conventionally beautiful, still held Draco's attention a fatal second too long.

"Draco, there you are! I bet you thought you'd lost me for a minute but don't worry, darling, Pansy's here!"

A high-pitched tinkling laugh grated on Malfoy's ears. In close competition with her personality, it was arguably her most annoying feature.

_ I wish I had lost her_, he thought, as he turned to find Pansy with a horribly flirtatious grin on her face, staring up at him and – _Oh my God_, he thought_, she's actually fluttering her eyelashes!_ Putting his back to her, he scanned the crowd again, but the girl had replaced her hood, and sunk back into the sea of black; he'd lost her.

For Hermione, the whole night seemed to pass by very quickly. One moment, the bedraggled First Years were straggling up the middle of the Great Hall to be Sorted, looking so terrified Hermione's heart went out to them, even as she found herself thinking, _Wimps! I'm sure we weren't that scared when we were Sorted – I mean, it's a hat, for God's sake! They can see it!_ Still, she sent a couple of them a friendly grin, but this seemed to make them even more nervous so she subsided in her seat.

Next thing she knew, custard was being scraped out of the bottom of bowls, and Dumbledore was rising to give his Beginning-of-the-Year speech.

"Welcome one, welcome all to a new year at Hogwarts! I just have a few words to say before we send you off to your dormitories, and I promise you that at least eight of those words are going to be of some interest to most of you!" A murmur of laughter ran round the Hall at this, stopping sharply at the Slytherin table and slinking off into the corridor outside instead.

"However, there are the usual warnings and such-like to regale you with first, so, please keep away from the Forbidden Forest – it is called that for a reason, although it seems to be more forbidden to some than to others." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to rest for a moment on the Gryffindor table where the Weasley twins and the Trio sat grinning at each other.

"Also, there have been, of course, several new items added to Mr. Filch's notorious List, so please check it before you throw your Ever-bouncing Table Tennis Balls, or whatever other wondrous thing you simply had to bring to school with you this year – the suggested punishments seem to get worse as the list gets longer! I give you fair warning." There was open laughter at this remark, and even some of the teachers couldn't help a suppressed smile or two. Professor Snape however, remained as coldly thin-lipped as ever, and Mr. Filch scowled around the Great Hall, as though willing someone to throw a Fanged Frisbee right there, under his very own bulbous nose.

"And now," continued Dumbledore, as though there had been no interruption, and in exactly the same tone of voice, "for the interesting part. At least I hope it will be interesting for you – I'm very sorry if it isn't but I do try.

"In recognition of the very dark events of recent months, and in light of the pressure many of you will feel yourselves under in the near future-" To Hermione, Dumbledore's eyes again seemed to come to rest on their group, and in particular, on Harry whose gaze was fixed on the tabletop below him, "-we, that is to say, the other professors and I, have decided a little excitement is in order, to get the year off to a flying start. So, on Halloween night, there is to be a Ball here in the Great Hall for Fourth Years and above. Dress robes are to be worn, and there will be live music and refreshments provided." Excited chatter was heard from all four tables, along with disappointed groans from the younger students. Dumbledore held up his hands for quiet and then continued.

"Do not despair please, First, Second and Third Years; you have not been forgotten. The ball shall not begin until ten o'clock at night, to give ample time for your feast to be leisurely completed.

"I trust I did not get your hopes up unduly as regards interesting words, though it took much more than eight, and since this ought to provide such a good opportunity for sitting up till all hours of the morning, I bid you good night now. Off you go!"

Hermione, Ron and Harry left the Great Hall quickly, anxious to get to the common room ahead of the rest and grab their favourite seats beside the fire. As prefects, Ron and Hermione knew the password, and as it was now up to the new Fifth Year prefects to guide the First Years to the Fat Lady's portrait, "For which," Ron had said earlier, breathing a hefty sigh of relief, "I am very thankful!", they were free to do as they wished.

They soon left the other students far behind them, and slowed to a leisurely stroll, taking notice of which suits of armour had swapped places in their absence, and greeting some of their favourite paintings as they passed.

"So," began Hermione, as they rounded the last corner before they reached the portrait hole, "what do you two make of the Ball then?"

Ron shrugged. "Should be alright, I guess, as long as they don't force us to dance." Harry, remembering the Yule Ball two years ago, nodded his head vehemently in agreement with this.

"Who do you think you'll take?" asked Hermione, with deceptive sweetness, looking straight at Ron. Harry suppressed a grin.

Ron's ears turned red, and he quickly turned his back on Hermione and said, "Phoenix feathers."

As the Fat Lady swung forward to admit them with a cheery, "Hello again, dearies!" he looked back over his shoulder and said, "I haven't really thought about it yet, to be honest, no idea!"

Hermione scowled at Ron's back as he clambered through into the common room, then followed him inside. Harry swallowed down his laughter before joining them.

When they were all settled by the fire, Hermione continued the conversation, fixing Harry with a glare so that he knew his shaking shoulders hadn't been entirely missed and that now, he was going to pay for it.

"How about you, Harry? Who'll you ask?" she asked, falsely sweet.

Harry choked, but before he could answer, Ron butted in.

"Hmmm, let's think shall we? Who has he been obsessing about for the last three years?I think he'll ask Cho, Hermione!"

Hermione laughed, and remained looking questioningly at Harry with her eyebrows raised and the shadow of a smug smile hovering around her lips. Harry felt himself flush a little and scowled at Hermione, who simply smiled sweetly back. He felt a little shell-shocked; he thought he'd concealed it so cleverly, he couldn't believe Hermione knew.

He cleared his throat and said,

"Erm, actually, Ron, I don't think I will be asking Cho."

Ron sat up in his chair. "Really, then who?"

Hermione laughed again. "Oh, Ron – you really don't know?"

"Hermione," said Harry, through clenched teeth, "Shut up!"

She sat back in her chair, trying to look affronted, but her eyes were dancing. Ron looked curiously from one to the other.

"What? Who? I want to know!"

Harry was feeling more and more agitated – he couldn't tell Ron, he just couldn't – when, the picture swung open once more, and with a signal to the others to drop the discussion, and a silent prayer of thanks, Harry turned to look at who was coming in.

Ginny tried not to feel upset when Harry, Ron and Hermione just leapt up from their seats and all but ran from the Great Hall leaving her behind with Fred and George. _See_, she told herself, as she moved to join the crush of people forming around the doors, _you're not one of them. They're the Trio, and you're not part of that. The best you can hope for is the Trio plus one, and do you really want that? You're supposed to be stepping out from the shadows, not moving even deeper into them! _

Still, she had hoped that after the Department of Mysteries, there would be more of a bond between them and her. If truth be told all it had done was strengthen the bond between the three of them; the wall that kept her, and the rest of the world, out. That was the problem, she realised; even to her, and no matter what she did, it would always be _them_ and her; never _us_. She thought back to all those years when she had fancied Harry; had wanted him all to herself. Now, even to want a part of him was too much to ask. There were too many people all vying for his attention: Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, her parents and the other members of the Order, You-know-Who (she still couldn't say his name, even in her mind, though she was trying to train herself to, because _they_ did). Even Sirius and Harry's parents, although they were dead, were in the fight too, though in their cases they had already won. What chance did she have against all of them, even if she only wanted Harry's friendship? She sighed, and began to try to push her way through the thinning crowd to the corridor ahead.

Draco watched the girl as she stood at the back of a throng of people trying to force their way through the double doors. He was still sitting at the Slytherin table; Malfoys didn't demean themselves by standing in a queue, never mind at the back of one. Besides, if he was really so desperate to get back to the common room, he would have Crabbe and Goyle or some of his other henchmen force him a passage through.

He hadn't managed to see what table the girl had been sitting at. Obviously it wasn't Slytherin, and he hoped against hope it was Ravenclaw. She couldn't be in Hufflepuff, she just couldn't! But if she was… she'd be dull and boring and stupid – no, she couldn't be a Hufflepuff!

It would be worse if she was in Gryffindor though – _please, God_, he begged, _please, let her not be in Gryffindor. Let her be a Ravenclaw. A nice, interesting, pure-blooded Ravenclaw who might have ended up in Slytherin if she was a little less bright._

It was strange that he had never noticed her before. Clearly, she wasn't a First Year - he had known that even before he had watched the Sorting, and she hadn't been in it – so why had he never noticed her? Maybe Pansy's stupid poofy hair had always been in the way!

That girl was a menace! She had done nothing but pester him all through the meal, and what with fending her off, and greeting some of the sons of his father's acquaintances at the table (not friends; being friends only brought you down to their level, said Draco's father, and Malfoys are on nobody's level) he hadn't had chance to look for her until now.

He leant back in his seat slightly to get a look at her face, and was surprised. He had expected her to be chatting excitedly to someone unseen on the other side of her, but she was alone, and looked lonely, and sad. He thought he had never seen a face so expressive in its anguish before – well, perhaps anguish was a bit strong, but certainly deep unhappiness. He almost felt as though he couldn't bear to see it; she touched some chord buried deep inside him that he didn't know he had.

The crowd was thinning now, so Draco deigned to rise and move towards the doors, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him. As he continued to observe her, he saw her shoulders heave as she uttered a massive sigh, and then she began to push through the stragglers in front of her. Malfoy quickened his pace; he wanted to see the house badge on her chest before she disappeared, but just as he got close enough, another girl moved into his line of vision, and called out, "Ginny!"

Draco stared, disbelieving, as his girl – already, she was _his_ girl - turned and smiled a warm welcome, before she walked away with the new arrival, chattering nine to the dozen.

_ Ginny_, he thought despairingly as he watched them leave. _She's a Weasley!_

Ginny wasn't the only girl to watch heavy-hearted as Harry left the Great Hall with his friends; on the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang sighed dramatically and flung her head onto her arms. Sitting beside her, Marietta Edgecombe cooed over her sympathetically.

"Oh, God, it's so horrible!" Cho moaned, her voice muffled by her robes. "He didn't even look at me – how can I get him to go to the Ball with me if he won't even look at me?"

Marietta frowned. After what Harry and his devious, conniving friends had done to her, she didn't understand why Cho wanted to go out with him again. It had taken her mother's connections at St Mungo's all summer to find the counter-curse for the trick Hermione had played on her! Still, Cho was the only friend she had left; the other Ravenclaws wanted nothing to do with her after she had 'betrayed' their precious DA. As though it was really that big a deal. It was all in the past anyway, why did everyone feel the need to keep dragging it up? Already, people had refused to sit next to her at the Ravenclaw table, and she could hear the hissing whispers as neighbours told the first years,

"Yeah, that's her. Sold us out to Umbridge; dirty sneak!"

She didn't really have much of a choice; Cho was the only person willing to talk to her. Even if she was annoying, and self-centred and obsessed with Harry Potter Honestly, hadn't the girl any individuality! There were plenty of nice-looking Ravenclaw boys, but no, nothing less than The Boy Who Lived would please Cho Chang! Even so, she was Marietta's only friend. If she fell out with Cho Chang, Marietta would have to leave Hogwarts.

Accordingly, Marietta pasted a concerned look onto her face, and gave Cho a swift hug, pulling her into a sitting position.

"Come on, Cho, cheer up – like he doesn't want to go to the Ball with you? He's been obsessed with you for years, he just thinks he messed it all up last term!

Show him you want to go to the Ball with him and you'll easily win him back."

Cho frowned. "Win him _back_? Who have I lost him to?"

"No one yet, but if you don't move quickly you will. There are hundreds of girls here who would kill to get a date with the famous Harry Potter, if you don't move fast, someone else will!"

Cho bit her lip, thinking over this advice. Then her face brightened.

"You're right," she said, and Marietta breathed a sigh of relief. "After all, it's me and Harry; Harry and Cho – what other name sounds as good with Harry's?"

_ Oh, I don't know,_ thought Marietta, vindictively, _Harry and Hermione sounds quite good; Harry and Ginny too_….she looked down the table and giggled internally _– even Harry and Luna went together better than Harry and Cho!_ But she just smiled and nodded in agreement as they rose from their seats.

Luna Lovegood looked after them from her solitary seat nearby.

_ People may think I'm daft_, she thought, turning to a new page in her copy of the Quibbler, _but at least I'm not delusional! As though Harry's interested in anyone other than a particular Gryffindor_…. She smiled a little sadly to herself, and began to read the next article.

Natalie linked arms with Ginny and smiled at her as they headed towards the common room.

"Where've you been all day, Gin?" she asked. "I was looking out for you on the train!"

Ginny sighed. "Oh, sorry. I was sat with my brothers. I thought there probably wouldn't be any room for me with you and the others."

Natalie laughed. "Are you mad? We saved you a seat – oh, but I can guess why you'd rather sit with your _brothers_! Three guesses who you want to take you to the Ball!"

Ginny gaped at the other girl, half smiling, half shocked. Pulling herself together, she raised her chin slightly, and said in a would-be cold voice, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, please," Natalie scoffed, as they approached the portrait door. "Who have you been obsessing about for the last six years?" She pulled away from Ginny, and skipped up the corridor, singing in a falsetto voice,

"Ginny and Harry sitting in a tree

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G-"

"Natalie, shut _up_!" hissed Ginny, shoving her playfully. They were now right outside the door, and Ginny knew that it wasn't exactly soundproof.

"Alright, alright," replied Natalie, still laughing as she gave the password. "Just promise me I can be bridesmaid!"

They were still giggling as they clambered through the portrait hole, and Ginny looked up to find Harry watching them.

They both flushed. _Oh God_, thought Ginny, _if he heard Nat singing I'll just die right here, I know it!_

_ If she heard us talking_, thought Harry desperately, _if she heard Hermione I'll never speak to her again!_

"Ginny, Nat, hi!" It was Hermione, smoothing over the awkward pause as they all looked at each other. "Are you two going up to bed, or do you want to join us? We were just discussing the Ball."

Harry watched as Nat nudged Ginny, and whispered something, gesturing towards the fireplace. Ginny shook her head viciously in reply, and said, "No, thanks, Hermione. I'm shattered. I'll see you guys in the morning."

Natalie lingered a moment or two longer, ostensibly to ask Hermione something about Muggle Studies. She noticed Harry's eyes following Ginny as she crossed the room, and climbed the stairs. Even after she had disappeared from view, his eyes remained fixed on the place where he had last seen her. It took Ron three tries to draw Harry back from wherever he had gone, and even then he didn't really seem as enthusiastic as usual when it came to dissecting the latest Chudley Cannons defeat.

_ Interesting, very interesting_, Natalie thought later, as she lay in bed. As the other girls hadn't got back yet she and Ginny, who had beds next to each other, could talk without being overheard.

"So," she said. "You don't want to go to the Ball with Harry Potter?"

Ginny reddened, and was grateful that the darkness hid it. "Well, it's not like I'd say no if he asked me, but who would? It's just that I gave up on that particular crush a long time ago."

Natalie smiled a little. "If I were you, I wouldn't give up so easily. Didn't you see the way he was looking at you tonight? I'd say he's definitely gearing himself up to ask you _something_…. Just remember, I look terrible in pink!"

Ginny laughed and threw one of her pillows at Nat, who deftly caught it and threw it back.

"Night, Gin," she said, turning her back on the other girl and her denials.

"Night," Ginny replied, though her wonderings meant it was a long time before she finally drifted off to sleep.

And far down in a beautifully furnished private room, a blond haired boy scowled as he pummelled his pillow. _A Weasley – she was a Weasley!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter...more's the pity.  
I amnot profittingin any way from writing TML... more's the pity.  
My only pay is your review!hint hint**

CHAPTER TWO

Harry lay awake in his bed and watched through a gap in the brocade curtains as the sun slowly began its climb through the sky. As far as he could tell without looking at his watch, it wasn't much past five in the morning, but he knew he wouldn't get any more sleep.

There were a couple of niggling worries which were bothering Harry. Well, he corrected himself, there was one gigantic, obvious, sumo wrestler type of a worry, but aside from the whole saving-the-world thing, two other issues stood out.

One of these was Ginny. Funny, he thought, how a single word could encompass all the maelstrom of emotions that it unleashed inside him. He wasn't sure when she'd become this important to him. It wasn't one of those always-there-but-never-spoken things; it had been long and gradual, so gradual that he couldn't even begin to fathom how she had switched from being the funny little girl with too much hair and no voice to a girl who made his breath catch when she smiled – and even when she didn't.

But then there was Ron. Harry glanced over at the bed next to him, where his best friend slumbered on in oblivion, and scowled. Something told Harry that Ron would not be impressed if he asked Ginny to the Ball. In fact, apoplectic rage probably didn't even cover it. For someone with six siblings, Ron did the spoilt only child act very well. He really didn't like to share what he considered to be his first, and Ginny definitely qualified under that category. However, Harry was not prepared to give up on Ginny and take some other random girl (it didn't matter who; no-one else compared) to the Ball just because of Ron. Which probably meant there were going to be some interesting times ahead.

Aside from all the issues of asking Ginny out though, there was the act itself. He wasn't sure he could ever pluck up the courage to do it. Of course he knew, like the rest of school and probably the rest of the wizarding world by now, that Ginny had had a crush on him for quite some time, but he had always viewed it in an abstract way, as though it wasn't really the two of them but a completely different couple. And anyway, what was it Hermione had said only a few months ago….that Ginny had "given up" on him a long time ago.

Which of course she would, Harry chastised himself. Why should she wait around for five years while his lumbering Neanderthal brain finally cottoned in to the fact that she was perfect?

He swore out loud, and then started a little as Ron emitted a loud snore and turned on his side. Harry sighed, and scrambled out of his twisted bed clothes. He was going to regret it later on today but right now, he didn't want to stay in bed another second. With the vague idea of jogging down to the Quidditch pitch to blow away the anxieties in an early morning flight he pulled on his robes and headed down to the common room.

00000

Ginny was awake too, and had been for a long time. She had dressed herself and slipped downstairs to the common room before the sun had even risen and was now curled up on a window seat, partially concealed by the curtains, watching the mist melt away from the grounds, thinking.

The last few weeks or so had been confusing to say the least, full of incomprehensible lessons and surprising invitations. Of course she had known that physically she had changed over the last couple of months, but she still wasn't prepared for the amount of attention she was now receiving. Several of the boys in her own year asked her to go with them, as did a couple of the Gryffindors in the year above, and a few others looked like they would if they thought they had a shot, such as Neville Longbottom, who flushed purple every time he saw her and dropped everything he was holding.

Ginny turned them all down. The other Fifth Year Gryffindor girls clearly thought she was mad, and Sally actually got on her knees and begged when Seamus Finnigan asked her.

"But he's so _cute_!" she pleaded, "and Irish! Cute _and _Irish – what more could you want?"

Ginny grinned at the memory of Sally prostrated at her feet, but the smile quickly faded. Ever since she was a little girl, reading the stories her father bought her about princesses and knights, she had had an image in her head of how her first ball should be (technically she hadn't been invited to the Yule Ball, Neville had, so she didn't think that counted). She could see herself, in gorgeous deep purple robes, dancing with a tall, lean, capable boy, her skirts twirling around them as they waltzed. She couldn't see her partner's face, and even his hair colour was indistinct, but she had an instinctive feeling that he was not Seamus Finnigan, or any of the other boys who had asked her so far. In her first year she had liked to daydream that it was Tom, free from the diary, smiling down at her and holding her close in his arms, but Harry had forced out that particular piece of the mental propaganda at which Tom was so skilled. So Ginny had reverted to type, and spent the next few years whiling away the lonely hours imagining what Harry would be like to dance with. She dreamed that he would lead; a natural dancer, sure and steady, and very attentive… Ginny snorted as she remembered the Yule Ball; once again, Harry had destroyed her ideal. But who else could it be? Ginny was drawing a blank.

And as time went on, and all the other girls in her dormitory paired off, she began to get a little nervous. She already knew from harsh experience that what happened in her head was not necessarily going to happen in reality. What if she had missed her opportunity and now wouldn't be able to go to the Ball at all? She sighed heavily, and then started as a voice asked, "Ginny?"

She sighed again, but silently. It was Harry. The last thing she felt in the mood for now was a stilted, non-conversation with the Boy-Who-Lived, especially looking as she did, which she knew was something equivalent to the proverbial death warmed up. Slowly, she drew back the curtain that was hiding her, and peered round it.

Harry frowned at her.

"What are you doing behind there?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged, stifling a yawn. "Nothing really. Couldn't sleep."

"Join the club." He smiled tiredly, then shifted from one foot to the other, a little nervously, as if making up his mind to do something. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you. Do you mind if I join you a minute?"

In answer, Ginny swung her legs sideways off the window seat to give Harry room to sit down, though he paused before doing so, and then looked so ill at ease that Ginny asked, with a worried frown, "What is it? What's happened?"

Harry smiled tremulously. "Nothing, nothing. It's just…" His voice trailed off and he turned away from her to look out of the window. "God, this is never going to be easy, is it?"

Ginny stared. Suddenly, she had a feeling that she knew exactly where this was going, and she wasn't really sure how she felt about it. If it had been a year ago she would have been over the moon, but now, well, to be brutally honest it kind of disappointed her that Harry was as susceptible as any other boy to what seemed to her a very slight change in her appearance.

Harry swallowed. He couldn't believe how nervous he was. This was Ginny, for goodness' sake! He'd known her for years – why did his mouth go so dry and his stomach feel like it had just collapsed in on itself because of _Ginny_? He stared out over the grounds, the lake gleaming in the early morning sunshine and thought reflectively, _I'm going to be sick. _

The silence was stretching out between them, awkward and ungainly. Harry sighed inwardly, clutching at the chaff that was all he had left of his courage, and laughed at himself. _I can face down Voldemort and a crowd of Death Eaters, but try to ask a girl to a ball and I fall to pieces! Hardly a classic Achilles' Heel but there you go. _He mentally shook his head to clear it_. Right, this is stupid. Just do it!_

"Gin, do you want to go to the Ball with me?" Inside the sleeves of his Quidditch jersey, his fingers tied themselves in knots

Ginny smiled a small smile, and looked a little wistful, but Harry was too wound up to take proper notice and the next minute it had been replaced by a real grin and a faint flush on her cheeks as she replied, "Yes, Harry. I'd love to."

Harry grinned stupidly back at her, the weight that had settled in his chest gone so fast he felt as though he was flying weightlessly already. Realising he was staring at her, he blushed and looked away quickly, running his fingers randomly through his hair. Remembering the reason he had originally come down the stairs, he cleared his throat and asked, "Do you want to come down to the Quidditch pitch with me? Early morning one-on-one?"

"Sure," she smiled back, jumping off the seat, "I'll just go and get changed."

After she'd gone, Harry leaned back against the casement, grinning inanely again, now that there was no-one there to see. The good feeling vanished however, when his eyes alighted on the boys' staircase, and he remembered another red-head who was still asleep upstairs.

_ Ron, _he thought. _Shit._

0 0 0 0 0

Draco had always had trouble sleeping. Yes, he had his own room, luxurious almost, but crucially, not quite to the point of vulgarity. Even so, if insomnia struck, velvet wall hangings and crisp linen sheets really didn't help much. At such times he'd much rather trade them for a decent Sleeping Draught, but of course, like all useful things, Malfoys didn't take Sleeping Draughts. According to his father, only the weak-minded required help to do something as basic as fall asleep. It was very easy to hear the sneer in his voice when he had said that.

So, Draco often didn't get to sleep until some ridiculous time shortly after dawn, and as a result usually woke late. And on this particular morning, as he climbed the stairs out of the dungeons into the Entrance Hall, yawning ungraciously, he saw Potter and Ginny walking in from the grounds, together.

Quickly, he ducked back inside the archway, and watched them as they crossed the Hall and headed off up the stairs which presumably led to the Gryffindor common room. They were both carrying their brooms and wearing Quidditch robes, their faces rosy from the exercise and the early morning chill. Harry said something to Ginny, gesturing towards the brooms and she threw back her head and laughed out loud. Draco had never seen anyone laugh like that before, a child's gurgle, completely unstudied and unconscious of how she might appear to others. It was captivating….

Draco scowled, and kicked the wall hard, frowning even more as his toes were crushed against the unyielding stone. Limping through to the Slytherin table, he slouched into his seat and picked over the remainders of breakfast.

"Draco, darling, don't be silly! I saved you your favourite, look!"

Draco swore under his breath. Pansy, playing 1950s housewife again. He had been getting a good taste, over the last few weeks, of what exactly life would be like with Pansy. Answer: insupportable. The babbling and nonsensical letters had continued to stream through his bedroom window, only now they had reached previously unheard of heights of pointlessness since she also seemed to be permanently attached to his elbow. She had even flirted outrageously with the portrait of a sixteenth-century Malfoy which guarded his bedroom door, so that he would let her in and out without the password. Now, when he darted into his room to pick up a forgotten textbook or grab a handful of extra quills, he was always either being bombarded by a rain of candy hearts, or nearly drowning in a sea of crimson rose petals. She had even, most memorably, charmed the dragon on his schoolbag so that it chanted, at the most inopportune moments, "Draco and Pansy forever," in a breathless voice.

Yes, he definitely blamed Pansy for this silly infatuation with Ginny Weasley. It wasn't even an infatuation; it was simply that, compared to Pansy, even that girl in Ravenclaw with the off-centre nose was starting to look appealing! And Ginny was the complete opposite of Pansy. Fairly tall, slender, with no make-up and a total unconsciousness of her appeal, she contrasted sharply with the short, curvy, heavily made-up and posing Pansy Parkinson.

Of course, that didn't entirely explain why he watched her. Suddenly Ginny Weasley was everywhere…even if he had to walk ten minutes out of his way and climb entirely the wrong staircase just to make sure he saw her. But wherever she was, Potter wasn't far behind.

_ Potter_! Draco's mind spat out the name like poison. He knew, like the rest of the conscious human race, that Ginny had had an almighty crush on Potter for years. Who could forget that tragic Valentine's Day rhyme? She had changed so much since then, but from what he had seen this morning, in some ways she was entirely the same.

His eyes narrowed as he pushed away Pansy's carefully prepared plate of food and poured himself some black coffee, watching _her_ over the rim of his mug as she entered the room, freshly washed and in clean robes with Harry by her side.

_ Doesn't she realise she's nothing to him?_ he wondered_. Potter's an old fashioned hero,_ _convinced of his own superiority and the necessity of working alone. And probably with one of those big compensatory swords strapped on his back for good measure_, he added vindictively.

He scowled viciously across the Great Hall, until one of the Weasley twins happened to glance up and intercept his gaze. Draco quickly looked away, then dropped his coffee cup onto the table and stalked out of the room, ignoring Pansy's attempts to call him back.

0 0 0 0 0

George turned to his twin and said in an undertone, "He was at it again."

It was a mark of their closeness that Fred needed no other clarification. He swivelled around in his seat just in time to spot the edge of Draco's robe as he whipped around the doorjamb.

"Damn him," Fred replied in a furious whisper, "what's he up to?"

George shrugged. "You think we should tell her?" It wasn't really a question, because he already knew the answer, and when Harry got up and left the table a moment later, the pair took their cue.

0 0 0 0 0

Natalie MacDonald turned to her friend and arched an elegant eyebrow. Ginny blushed.

"Alright, alright," she sighed, "You were right."

Nat whooped before she remembered where she was, with the help of a well-placed kick from Ginny.

"Ow! I was right – I must get some gloating time! Oh," she added, "do you want some more good news, or is your heart bursting with joy as it is?"

"Shut up," replied Ginny, smiling, "what is it now?"

"Oh, nothing," said Natalie, airily, "only there was a declaration from Dumbledore up in the common room this morning saying that he'd cancelled all afternoon lessons on Halloween, which means-"

"No Potions!" they cried in synchrony, stopping abruptly when they were interrupted by a voice above their heads.

"Oh, 'tis a happy, happy day!" exclaimed Fred as he and George elbowed their way into seats on either side of their sister.

She waved goodbye to Nat as she left the table then frowned at each of them in turn. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing, nothing," replied George. "Can't a brother sit next to his little sister without any accusation?"

Ginny shrugged and carried on eating her cereal.

"So," said Fred conversationally after he and George had helped themselves to eggs and bacon, "you're going to the Ball with Harry tonight?"

Ginny rolled her eyes; here it comes. "How did you know that?"

George rolled his eyes back at her. "Natalie all but screeched it about five minutes ago – it didn't take MI6 level subterfuge, you know Gin!"

"On which note," added Fred, in a lower tone, "I wouldn't get too Smug Married just yet. We still haven't heard from Ronniekins-"

Ginny drew herself up. "As if I care whether Ron thinks someone is alright for me to go out with or not!"

But Fred cut across her. "Yes, yes, women's rights, independence, rah, rah, rah. But step down from your soapbox a minute 'cos actually, the real reason we wanted to talk to you was that someone is following you around school – did you know?"

Ginny was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "I've been feeling as though I'm being watched but I thought it was just me being paranoid. Who is it?"

Fred and George exchanged dark looks before George replied, "Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ginny spluttered. "What on earth is he doing following me?"

Again, dark looks. "We don't know, but just watch out, ok? Knowing Malfoy, it isn't going to be because he wants to give you a surprise birthday party or something."

Ginny half-frowned, half-smiled. "Yeah, alright, but don't tell Ron and Harry.You know what they'll get like, all protective and knight-in-shining-armour."

"As if you'd mind," scoffed Fred, throwing a hand theatrically against his forehead and leaning against his twin, proclaiming, "Oh Harry, my hero! Kiss me!"

00000

Two hours later the hero in question was heading back up to the common room. Upon leaving the Great Hall, he had walked round and round the lake, thinking. Sooner or later, he knew, he was going to have to tell the others about the prophesy. He didn't want to think about it, but he had no choice. He knew that a good part of his obsessive nervousness about asking Ginny to the ball had been to do with displacing his anxiety about the prophesy. _Killed or killer, before the end…_

He had no idea how to broach a subject like that. How did you possibly begin it? Hey guys, guess what? The impossibility of the task ahead, and the fact that telling his friends would destroy the last threads of childhood and innocence they had left had held him back, and were still working against him. As long as he didn't admit it to the others, in some way, he didn't need to admit to it himself.

By the time he had made it to the portrait hole, he wanted nothing more than to curl up under his quilt cover and refuse to emerge until it was all over. He could hardly fight to the death with Voldemort from within a counterpane. Harry was aware he wasn't really thinking sensibly. He also knew he had other issues to take care of before he could retreat to his eiderdown hide-away.

"Phoenix-" began Harry, but then the Fat Lady swung open ferociously and Hermione appeared, looking highly aggravated.

"Hey, Hermione, where's R-" Harry's voice tailed off as he noticed her irate expression. "Alright," he said resignedly, "what happened?"

"Ron," Hermione spat, "is never going to ask me to a ball, _ever_! I don't know why I even bothered waiting this long for him to wake up. He is totally impossible and I don't give a- a- a rat's arse anymore. If he asks you, tell him I'm going to the ball with Terry Boot, _who asked me last week_!"

_ Oh dear_, thought Harry tiredly, as he made his way over to their favourite seats by the fire and saw Ron glowering into the fire. _This is not going to go well._

_ Double shit._

Ron was opening his mouth to speak, but Harry cut across him quickly. Ron was very like his mother in some respects – you had to head him off before he got into the flow.

"Ron, I want to talk to you about Ginny."

Ron frowned, concerned. "What about Ginny? What's happened?"

"Nothing's wrong," Harry hurried to reassure him. "Only, well, I was wondering…" Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "whether it'd be okay if I, er, asked her to the ball?"

Harry's voice trailed off into silence. When he risked a look at his friend's face, he saw with dismay that it had soured.

"What, my parents and brothers aren't good enough for you?" asked Ron in a deceptively quiet voice. "You want my little sister too?"

"Ron, what are you talking about?" asked Harry confused. "I just want to go to the ball with Ginny, that's all!"

"That's all? That's all?" thundered Ron, taking Harry by surprise, "That isn't bloody all and you know it! You've taken all the others and now you want her too! Well, you can't have her!

"What the hell are you talking about, taken all the others?" demanded Harry, bewildered; this was _really_ not looking good. "What, you've been hiding a whole crowd of sisters I've mysteriously done away with?"

"No, not sisters," spat Ron, bitterly, "Brothers. My brothers. And my mum and dad too. They all like you better than me – don't bother trying to deny it! You're the brother they always wanted, the son they never had – DON'T TRY AND DENY IT!" he yelled, as Harry tried to interject. "I've heard them all say it countless times! And I didn't mind, really I didn't, but this – Ginny? That's taking things too far don't you think, Harry? Ginny's all I have left; I'd be alone without her."

Harry's short-fuse temper, dulled by the grief of the summer, now sparked again.

"Alone? Oh, you're alone? Yes, of course, you've only got five brothers and a sister, and both your parents, and your godparents-"Harry forced that last word out of his mouth; he'd avoided saying it ever since the Department of Mysteries. "Oh, yes, I understand how your heart must be bleeding! How could I ever be so selfish as to want something for myself, when you know so clearly what it's like to be lonely! I mean really, Ron, if you're so isolated, why are you still ignoring Hermione, who might as well just throw herself at your feet for all the good it's-"

"YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS!" screamed Ron, his face maroon with anger. "Or do you want her too? Wouldn't surprise me! You seem to want everything else that's mine – take her if you want her, go on. You'll get her in the end anyway; you always do get what you want. Ginny from me; Cho from Cedric-"

Harry's wand was suddenly pointing straight at Ron's throat and his voice was icily calm. Ron had a disturbing image of Harry in two years' time; a very terrifying force to be reckoned with.

"Say that again, would you?"

Ron raised his hands in a placatory manner. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. That was out of order and I didn't-"

Harry interrupted him. "I think you'd better go. I don't trust myself, and at the moment, I don't see how I'll ever trust you again."

Ron was deathly pale. "Harry, I-I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking-"

"The problem is, Ron," said Harry, his voice still eerily calm, "that it has just been made painfully obvious that I never know what you are thinking." His shoulders sagged noticeably, and deep creases formed in his forehead and around his eyes. He was back to being a boy again, tired and solitary, and Ron felt a strong twinge of guilt mixed with an echo of his former anger. Even this argument had reverted to being All About Harry.

"Just go, Ron, please."

And he went, leaving Harry to rush upstairs to the dormitory, fling himself onto his bed, and cry as if his only wish was to drown himself in his tears.

0 0 0 0 0

Ginny woke up suddenly, a feeling of keen disappointment hovering in her chest. _Disappointed about what?_ sheasked herself. It seemed to bear no relation to her dream, or to herself at that moment, but when she got out of bed and padded over to the mirror, she could see the resentful lines of that mysterious emotion still etched into her face. She shook her head, trying to clear it. There was something familiar about this disappointment, almost as though it was a resonance of a previous existence ….

Ginny frowned, and turning quickly from the glass, shrugged her arms into her dressing-gown and headed downstairs. She didn't know where she was going, she just had to get away from the dormitory; somehow, she thought she would feel better almost anywhere else.

Her bare feet padding on the stone floors of the corridors made no noise, and her navy-blue dressing-gown blended into the inky darkness so that she almost walked into Draco before he knew she was there.

"Weasley," he hissed, "what the hell are you doing down here? Do you know what time it is?"

For a moment he thought she was in some kind of trance, but then she looked up at him and her eyes were perfectly lucid.

"No," she said. "What time is it?"

Draco's expression softened almost imperceptibly. She looked strangely adorable in the pass-me-down boys' nightclothes which drowned her slender frame, with her hair artlessly tousled, and her feet bare on the hard tile…

"Why on earth haven't you got any shoes on?" he asked roughly, dragging her into an empty classroom and onto a rug in front of an empty grate. "You must be freezing!"

Ginny looked down at her feet with a strange expression; they looked blue in the moonlight. "Yes, I am."

"Then why on earth didn't you put any shoes on?" he repeated. "And what do you think you're doing, wondering round after hours?"

Ginny blinked and suddenly seemed to realise where she was. "It's after hours for you too, you know? Even prefects have a curfew, Malfoy!"

Draco shrugged, then pulled a couple of chairs out from beneath a neighbouring desk and sat down, pushing the other over to Ginny.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied. "I generally can't, so I took to wandering round the castle instead. Better than lying in bed listening to Crabbe and Goyle snoring. Never seen you about before though. Your boyfriend, now he's a regular night owl-" _Please contradict me, please contradict me, please contradict me_, he thought desperately.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Ginny said viciously, then she blanched. "That is…I mean…."

Draco mentally thumped the air with his fist. "You mean," he continued smoothly, "that even though you're seen _everywhere_ together, that you're now going to the ball together, that he drools all over himself whenever he sees you," (_Join the club_, Draco thought dryly), "you're 'just good friends.' Oh, yeah, perfectly platonic relationship."

Ginny had flushed beet-red. "Like that's any of your business, Malfoy!" She spat the name out, and internally, Draco flinched. "Anyway," she continued, "how do you know I'm going to the ball with Harry?"

The teasing inflection in her voice made Draco doubt the normally reliable gossip sources of the school, and hope for one all-too-swift moment that Potter had lost out after all.

Draco shrugged. "Come on, Ginny. This is Hogwarts. You can't keep a secret for longer than five seconds from the gossip grapevine!"

"Which includes your wonderful girlfriend!" Ginny shot back. "I guess Harry and I will see the two of you there!"

The ridiculous idea that Harry hadn't won the girl disappeared, leaving behind untouched only the cold, metal hatred of Potter himself.

"I suggest, Weasley," said Draco, his voice hard as steel, "that you run along back to your dormitory before I give you detention."

A new voice sounded from the doorway behind them. "You can't give detentions out, Malfoy – you're a prefect, not God!"

"Good God," said Draco, rising and yawning, "Granger's out and about too? What is tonight – the Gryffindor Teddy-bears' Picnic?"

Hermione's smile was thin-lipped and brief. "Good night, Malfoy."

After he had gone, Hermione turned to Ginny, and asked, astonishment plain on her face, "What on earth are you doing out of bed at this time of night, in an empty classroom, with _him_?"

"Enjoying a little late night verbal swordplay?" tried Ginny. She sighed at the unamused look on the other girl's face. "Oh, it wasn't like some sordid late night tryst, Hermione. I…erm….wasn't feeling very well, and I ran into Malfoy while I was a-wandering. No harm done – except I have blocks of ice for feet. Can I borrow your socks?"

Hermione exhaled heavily, then kicked off her slippers and threw her socks over to Ginny. "Why didn't you put your slippers on again, Ginny?" she asked, tiredly.

Ginny shrugged, suddenly feeling tired herself. "Oh, I don't know," she replied, "I wasn't really thinking what I was doing – I just had to get out of that dormitory!"

Hermione looked over at her shrewdly. "This whole thing wouldn't have anything to do with Harry, would it? I mean, of course I know he's going to the Ball with you, and I also know you don't exactly seem happy about it."

Ginny started, and tried in vain to cover it. She'd thought she'd been hiding her uncertainty so well, and she wanted to talk about it, but the problem with Hermione was that she was in some ways as remote to Ginny as Harry was, and so she was hard to confide in. _Better in the long run_, Ginny decided, _to just head her off!_

"It's just a silly thing, really," she said, before divulging to Hermione her Ball-fantasy, complete with purple robes, and now silver jewellery, for special effect. When she finished, Hermione looked a little confused, but her long association with boys meant that she felt she was out-of-touch with the way girls thought. Perhaps to Ginny this all made sense, instead of seeming like a jumble sale in the mind of a Brothers Grimm fanatic.

She herded Ginny off to bed, and once they had gone, Draco stepped out from behind the suit of armour which had been concealing him as he listened to their conversation.

_ Purple robes, eh?_

0 0 0 0 0

The next day Ginny was very tired. She virtually sleep-walked to her lessons, and sleep-sat while she was there, chin resting on one hand, eyes blissfully out of focus. In the evening, while the other Gryffindor Fifth Year girls excitedly tried on their dress robes, Ginny lay flat out on her bed, one arm flung across her eyes.

Natalie was surreptitiously watching her. Ginny had been very subdued all day, more so even than usual, and Nat knew there was something more behind this than simply the lack of sleep she was touting to anyone else who asked. In fact, if someone was to ask her to put money on it, Nat was willing to bet that it had a least a little bit of a link to Harry Potter.

Having her eyes covered suited Ginny for two purposes. One, it shut out the light that was hurting her aching, sleep-deprived eyes; two, it meant she could avoid looking at the other girls in their gorgeous robes, when she only had an old set of her mother's to wear, which, while they were dyed a not totally horrible dusky pink, nevertheless clashed horribly with her hair, and did not fit her at all. She was going to look just as stupid as Ron; in fact, stupider, because he now had a new set of robes courtesy of Fred and George, and had personally set alight to the Rotten Lace Monstrosities.

It was because her eyes were concealed that the other girls had to tell her when the owl came through the open window and settled on the foot of her bed. Surprised, she reached out and detached the parcel tied to the owl's leg. It felt squishy and was surprisingly light for its size.

"I wonder why it wasn't delivered at dinner," said one of the other girls, while Ginny said, confusedly,

"I wasn't expecting any post."

Sally, on tenterhooks, cried out, "Open it, will you, Gin, and put us out of our misery! That was a school owl, unless I'm much mistaken…"

At this, all of the girls left off their toilettes for a chorus of whoops and cheers. Ginny, flustered, tore at the brown paper covering and then gasped, choking back tears. The girls flocked round her, peering over shoulders at the parcel.

Only a tiny segment of deep purple cloth was visible, and only Nat knew what that meant. Wonderingly, Ginny shook out the silken robes and, nestled within them, was a glittering choker and earrings. These were a surprise even to Nat, and the others ooh-ed and aah-ed, but Ginny only smiled even wider; the jewellery was exactly as she had described it to Hermione only the night before.

Sally reached out a reverent hand to stroke the rich material. "Now I forgive you for turning down Seamus," she said, "I only wish I'd done the same thing myself."

Ginny giggled and Nat gave her a shove. "As if Harry was ever interested in anyone except our Gin," she scoffed and Sally shrugged disconsolately, a smile half-pulling at her lips.

"Put them on, Ginny; put them on," cried several voices all at once, and soon Ginny stood in front of the floor-length mirror, drinking in the looks of envy from the girls arrayed behind her. She had never had anyone be jealous of anything she owned before, and it was exhilarating. Examining her reflection critically, though, she could see why.

The robes were the perfect shade of amethyst silk, and crystals of the semi-precious stone had been interwoven into the fabric, and they glittered when the light struck them. They seemed to have been made for her, but Ginny had heard of exclusive tailors in London charming their robes to fit perfectly whoever wore them and guessed that this was where they had been made. She dreaded to think how much they had cost; more than her entire wardrobe she was sure.

She gulped, chewing her bottom lip, then turned her back to this enchanting image of her ideal self. "I can't accept them," she said simply.

The girls all stared in shock, and then Sally cried out, "The hell you can't! Look at them Ginny, they were made for you. And Harry's getting the pleasure of your company for an entire night – he should at least pay well for it!"

They all fell about laughing at this announcement, but Ginny was soon grave.

"That's just it," she said, feeling the onset of a furious blush and trying to fight it back down again, "My mum always said I should never accept gifts from men because-"

Sally nodded. "Because you don't know what they want in return. Yeah, yeah, my mum too, but seriously, Ginny, do you expect Harry Potter to send you gorgeous dress robes just so he can use them as a bribe?"

Ginny shrugged. "Of course not, it's just…." She stroked a finger down the fabric again, then exhaled and added, "Fine, I'll wear them."

Hurrahs echoed round the chamber as the other Fifth Year girls converged on Ginny and, careless of creases or crumples, hugged her for all they were worth.

In other parts of the castle, the boys too were trying on their robes. The Ball was fast approaching, and it was one of very few events when you could be seen wearing something other than the uniform; everyone wanted to look their best.

Harry straightened his green robes and attempted to smooth his hair down over his scar. As his fingers brushed it, a twinge that was a mere echo of the pain that had woken him in the night caused his forehead to crease momentarily. He didn't understand it. It wasn't equivalent to the anguish of having Voldemort nearby, or thinking about hurting Harry. It had felt almost like a memory of that…

He shook his head and turned back to the mirror. He should probably expect twinges like these, now that Voldemort was back properly and ready to begin assaulting the wizarding world once more.

He attacked his hair again with a comb, but it sprang up as soon as he stopped pressing it down. Admitting defeat, he regarded himself solemnly for a minute, then struck a casual pose and said, "Hi," to his reflection.

In a Gryffindor girls' dormitory, Ginny smoothed her hair back off her face, and whispered, "Hi," at the mirror, before blushing inexplicably and looking down at her feet.

And in his private room, Draco stood in front of his ornate, gilded looking-glass, and whispered, "I knew you'd look beautiful in them, because you always look beautiful anyway." Then his gaze turned into a grimace as he shrugged his arms quickly out of his robes and flung them onto a chair in a corner of the room.

_ Simpering_, he thought viciously, _I was simpering! Over a Weasley! This damn ball can't come soon enough..._

**A/N - Please review or I'll ... suspenseful pause use my powerful Legilimens skillsto find out your favourite fangirl/boy fetish, and make that character do hideously embarrassing things. hmmm...Draco in a bikini:)**

**If you would like to be added to the TML mailing list (yes, there's a mailing list!) then please either leave your address in a review or email me with it, and I'll let you know when Chapter 3 is up.**

**I use my LJ to post some snippets of forthcoming chapters, as well as general news about how the writing is going. It's at if anyone wants to check it out. **

**-alexia :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer -None of it belongs to me. Woe. **

**A/N - My firstborn child and the ritual animal sacrifice of her choice to Rea Yume, Goddess of Grammar and Slaughterer of excessive Punctuation, even when exams are looming. Bless you.**

**Also thanks to Bell, fantabulous as ever, and the newest member of our motley crew, Mallory for stepping in at the last minute when advice was much needed. **

**And a thousand apologies for the excessive lapse of time between Chapter 2 and 3 - if you've been following my LJ you'll know why this is so late. If you haven't - make up some reasons, they're sure to have happened!**

CHAPTER THREE

It was dark, but not a blank, unyielding dark. There was a tumultuousness behind the blackness which scared Ginny and she didn't understand it. Odd sparks momentarily shone in the gloom, like flickering light-bulbs, illuminating strange tableaux that she did not recognise.

A young woman, very young, lay weeping on a bed. Her face was frighteningly blank of features, a play-dough ball waiting to be moulded. Her hair was an indistinguishable shade, moving from brown to black to blonde to grey seamlessly. Her grief, though, was an awe-inspiring, gut-wrenching emotion. Ginny could almost taste it on the air, bittersweet like green apples; could feel it running through her fingers like the threads of snagged silk.

Next a young boy, better defined. Black-haired, he was facing away from her, staring fixedly at a point on the wall five metres away, as though if he could just pinpoint it exactly in his mind, the rest of the world would fall away and be forgotten. _Harry_, Ginny breathed, wishing she could reach out and smooth his hair, iron out the creases she knew would be aging his brow too soon. _Life was never easy for you, was it?_

Now an older boy still, not Harry this time, although in some ways remarkably like him, from the determined set of his mouth to his world-weary expression. Shocking, that an eleven-year-old should look so sick of it all, should already want out. He was holding a book, idly turning the pages to and fro, not reading a word…

Then there was blackness again, that swirling, nauseating dark that made her feel as though she was falling and falling into an endless abyss, tossing and turning, floundering for an escape, any escape, clutching at straws, at anything, at everything, at the very fabric of the air, at the fabric of time, clawing and screaming and-

"GINNY! For God's sake, WAKE UP!"

Ginny started, suddenly sitting bolt upright. Nat fell backwards into a heap on the floor with a girlish shriek. She sat up again, holding her hand over her heart.

"You frightened me to death, Gin! What on earth were you dreaming about?"

Ginny frowned, searching her memory, grasping at the tendrils of the nightmare. "There was a woman, crying…she had no face. And a boy who was… so sad. Oh, and Harry was there too, only very young and then there was just….darkness." She shuddered. "How long was I asleep?"

Natalie glanced at her watch. "About an hour I think. I did come up to see if you were feeling any better but…" She trailed off delicately and added instead, "Perhaps after you've had a bath you'll be more like yourself."

When Ginny took a look at herself in the mirror a few minutes later, after Natalie had headed downstairs again, she could see what Nat had meant. Her face had a sheen of cold sweat, and her forehead was once again creased with an unfamiliar emotion. She searched her mind, trying out different descriptions until she settled on depressed and….resigned.

_Resigned to what?_ she asked herself, as she grabbed her towel and headed for the bathroom. _To having six completely infuriating brothers? To going to the ball with Harry – no, wait, that hit a little close to home, didn't it?_

Scolding herself quietly, she shut the door a little too hard behind her.

0 0 0 0 0

Ron hurled a stone into the lake, then stooped to pick up another one. He'd never felt worse in his whole, entire life. It had been a week since he had had that argument with Harry, and they still weren't talking.

He didn't know how he could ever have said those things to Harry, who was his best friend - almost his brother. Especially when he knew how much Harry was already suffering. Harry's guilt over Sirius' death was still an almost-visible weight around his neck, dragging him earthward; how could Ron even have thought about adding to it?

And why had Harry asking Ginny to the Ball seemed so bad all of a sudden? Ron had had it at the back of his mind for years; a means of keeping his beloved younger sister away from Undesirables and of integrating Harry properly into the Weasley family at the same time. However, once that magical image was within reaching distance, instead of clapping Harry on the back, and dancing the dance of joy when he left the room, Ron had had what appeared to have been an embolism, or possibly a full-frontal lobotomy, whatever they were, and gone into meltdown. It couldn't have been, it hadn't been him, not really…and yet…

That was the worst part of it; that Ron knew that he had meant every word he had said. It had been as though an alternative Hyde-Ron had sprung up from the darkest recesses and shadows of Ron's mind and regurgitated, with terrifying accuracy, all of the most terrible thoughts that had ever occurred to him. It hadn't been entirely Hyde-Ron's fault though; there was a part of Jekyll-Ron which had also relished watching Harry squirm, had enjoyed the feeling of power, the knowledge that he could find the chinks in Harry's formidable armour and do what even Voldemort could not. He could break the Boy Who Lived.

Ron swore, and flung another pebble out into the water, as if by that gesture he could also fling that offending part of his character away. He hated both of those alternative Rons; they weren't him, not really! He loathed himself for what he had said, and for being made up of those tiny pieces which didn't really loathe him at all.

He stayed by the lake until dark. He wasn't going to the Ball so there was no need for him to go in any earlier. Everyone would say he was sulking; that he was sitting upstairs bewailing the fact that Harry was with Ginny, but Ron knew why he was avoiding his two best friends, and why he had yet to apologise.

He couldn't bear to look into their faces and see reproach in Hermione's eyes, and a hideous, eternal grief in Harry's, and know that he had put them there.

0 0 0 0 0

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, pulling a bread roll apart piece by piece, but not eating. Every so often his hand drifted up to his scar, and his forehead was scored by lines of concentration. He had circles around his eyes, and looked ill; Ginny guessed he wasn't sleeping any better than she was.

"Are him and Ron still not talking?" Nat whispered, gesturing at Harry.

Ginny shook her head. "No. It's been a week. I've never seen the two of them look this miserable."

"Have you tried to talk to either of them about it?" Nat asked.

"God, no!" Ginny replied viciously. "It's the Trio! Compared to them, Gringotts has got "Please, come in, and help yourselves" carved above the front door!"

Natalie half-smiled, then continued, "I don't know. At the moment, it doesn't look like there's much of a Trio left…but don't tell the first years I said that – they'd go into mass mourning!"

Her friend laughed aloud at that, adding, "They're the Trio, Nat. They've been through worse than this, trust me! They'll be fine…. Or they'd better be! God help me if word gets round that _I_ split up the Trio."

0 0 0 0 0

Harry looked up at the hysterical laughter from down the table and smiled faintly. At least _she_ was happy…

He had woken up this morning from a long night's rest, feeling as though he had barely slept at all. His head was pounding, and his scar aching, with flashes of pain that made his eyes water. One was so strong he thought he was going to faint. Before he knew what he was doing he had reached out blindly across the divide to Ron's bed….

But there was to be no help from that quarter. After the pain had subsided, Harry had realised that Ron had already dressed and left – that, or he hadn't slept in the tower at all last night. There was no confiding in Hermione either. She had made it perfectly clear, even before Ron or himself had had the chance to tell her the full story, that she didn't want to be stuck in the middle of another of their "silly arguments," and until they were talking to each other again, neither of them should bother trying to speak to her. Probably she hadn't meant that rule to apply in cases of impending doom, but Harry wasn't going to force her to listen to him. Ron had just looked daggers at him, and flounced off in the opposite direction, and Harry was left at a bit of a loose end.

True, he had asked Ginny to the Ball, and so he should be able to talk to her about things that were bothering him, but… well… it was Ginny. She had never been a part of the Trio's day-to-day lives; she had no knowledge of the fact that he was often plagued by strange pain and suffered from nightmares which had a worrying tendency of becoming reality. Possibly she had a vague idea of some kind of link between Harry and Voldemort after the Department of Mysteries fiasco –Harry winced mentally and pushed that away- but she only definitely knew of the one dream in which her father had been injured. Harry didn't want to burden her with the rest. Truth be told, he actually quite liked her not knowing. It made her a sort of refuge from all the other madnesses which made up his life in general. Harry was beginning to realise more and more that perhaps one of the reasons he focussed his attentions on Ginny as much as he did was because she was one of the very few people who saw him as just Harry, not as The Boy Who Lived, or a ticking time-bomb, about to detonate. That was not something he wanted to give up, or watch change before his very eyes any time soon.

0 0 0 0 0

Ginny sat on her bed, stroking the soft silken material of her new robes and looking thoughtful. It was the night of the Ball, in fact, she should be meeting Harry in the common room in the next ten minutes, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to get ready. All of the other girls, except Nat, had gone downstairs and were no doubt already in the Great Hall, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the decorations and awkwardly accepting compliments from their dates.

Natalie, however, was attempting to twist her heavy, dark-brown hair up into an elaborate hairstyle without magic, while unfortunately for her, both it and gravity had other ideas. After the coiffure fell apart in a cascade of curls for the umpteenth time, she gave a sigh of frustration, scattering hair-grips over the floor as she cried, "Sod it! I give up! Right, I'm ready; Ginny, are you com-"

She stopped abruptly as she took in Ginny's dishevelled appearance.

"Ginny, why aren't you ready? Are you not coming?"

Ginny started out of her thoughts, and then said, "No, I'm coming. It's just…."

"Just what? It's late, Harry'll be waiting, and if you don't hurry up, we'll miss all the Looks of Death the little kiddies'll give you as they head up to bed!"

Ginny smiled, and shook her head slightly. Pulling her hair out of its ponytail, she combed her fingers through it half-heartedly and said, "Ugh. I'm a mess, Nat. Look at my hair."

"Never mind that, I have a cunning plan. Just get your robes on."

As Ginny stood in front of the mirror smoothing down the material, Natalie reappeared behind her, and waved something silver in front of her face.

"Kneel down, Gin," she commanded. "You're too tall, I can't see what I'm doing."

Ginny knelt, casting a half-worried glance over her shoulder. "What are you going to do to me?" She knew Nat's penchant for slightly over-the-top hairstyles.

"Nothing too outrageous, don't you worry," Nat replied, her speech slurred by the pins in her mouth. "Wouldn't suit your style anyway. You need something elegant. Classic. Now face forwards, or it'll turn out lopsided!"

Ginny watched in the mirror as Nat brushed her hair off her face and twisted it carefully up, using the comb to anchor the soft mass firmly.

"It was my great-grandmother's," Nat explained as she pulled a couple of stray pieces of hair down to frame Ginny's face, and curled them around her wand. "Lose it, and we are both dead."

A few moments and a touch of eye make-up later, Nat surveyed her handiwork in the mirror.

"God, I wish I had your hair," she sighed, scrunching her own up a little, "You can do anything with it. Mine just….sits there."

Ginny tutted at her. "Thanks for the compliment, but your hair is gorgeous, as well you know, and I would happily swap it with you any day of the week. Come on, we're late."

"I guess I'll have to get practising those Switching Spells then," said Nat, laughing, as Ginny grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room. "God, I hate it when teachers are right."

0 0 0 0 0

Harry was sitting in his favourite chair in front of the fire, jiggling his foot up and down violently as a vent for his impatience. Getting ready in the dormitory with Ron's bed curtains shut tight against the world had been awkward to say the least, and he was acutely aware of his best friend's empty seat facing him on the other side of the hearth. He needed his friends now, as the common room emptied of its assembled couples, and the other Gryffindor boys sent looks of concern his way as they left through the portrait hole with their dates. He needed Hermione's explanation of why in the world Ginny was this late, and he needed Ron to throw a few well-aimed wisecracks his way to lighten his mood.

_Pity Ron's aim is so good with other stuff as well as jokes,_ thought Harry darkly, staring into the flames. He couldn't shake the feeling that Ginny's accepting him as her date had all been an elaborate hoax, and that any minute now, the Fat Lady would swing open once more to admit a crowd of laughing students, prominent among whom would be Ginny, on the arm of someone really foul, like Malfoy.

This picture was so vivid that Harry half-turned in his seat, expecting it to come true in a hideous fashion at any moment. _This is the problem_, he thought suddenly. _This is why life at Hogwarts hurts so much more than life at the Dursleys', even if I was miserable there. Let people get close to you, and you give them the ability to hurt you. Ron did it, Ginny's doing it, Sirius- _Quickly, he cut off that last thought. It was a rule he'd set in order to prevent himself being overwhelmed in the tsunami that name unleashed. Sirius was dead, and Harry dying from the inside out wasn't going to bring him back. Control, level-headedness: that was the name of the game.

He was so taken up in his thoughts that even a discreet cough from Nat failed to attract his attention, so she buffeted him around the head playfully, and pointed back to the girls' staircase as she left the common room to find her date.

Rubbing the back of his head ruefully as he turned round (like her hair, Nat also liked her jewellery big), he gaped when he saw Ginny standing at the foot of the stairs, half-smiling and looking nervous.

0 0 0 0 0

Draco carefully combed his hair into place, then stepped back to survey himself in the mirror, and scowled. He hated these robes. The Old Parish Vicar set were preferable to them, and he had thought it was impossible to detest an inanimate object more than he had detested them. Why his father wouldn't allow him to pick out his own clothes was beyond him. Lucius said that it was because his taste lacked refinement, and the touch of exaggerated luxury which was the Malfoy trademark. Draco thought that if his father's taste was supposed to be the way forward, he'd rather follow Weasley as a fashion icon. Draco had an idea that even Lockhart would probably draw the line at encrusting his wand with gemstones.

As soon as they entered the shop, Draco knew he was fighting a losing battle. He worked hard to keep his lip from curling as he took in the gilt decoration, the simpering Grecian statues and the sales assistants too eager to please. There had been very little to Draco's taste there, though one set of robes in deep grey silk shot with black caught his eye. Understated yet obviously of the highest quality, that was _his_ style.

Not - unfortunately for him - his father's though, and it was with a resounding aura of disbelief that a short time later he found himself being fitted for a set made of crushed black velvet with silver trimmings. As well as objecting to the general ostentation of the outfit, velvet had always made Draco's flesh creep, and the contrast between the dark material and his own white colouring made him look like an anaemic Little Lord Fauntleroy. This resemblance hadn't faded in the few months since his father had purchased the dress robes. _All I need is the lace ruff and golden ringlet_s, he thought sourly, as he turned disgustedly from the glass. _Either that, or a scythe and I could be Death Warmed Up. Although that might be appropriate…_

Draco was utterly appalled with himself for sending Ginny the secret dress robes. He could only assume that she had somehow cast an enchantment over him that made him take on all the character of a limp cabbage for a few hours (possibly she had switched his own personality with Longbottom's, who had appeared surprisingly empowered for a short time last week), during which time acting like a complete berk had seemed a good idea. Sending robes! Pansy's damned love letters seemed quite original and risqué in comparison. However, he had thought of a way of using this supreme embarrassment to gain his own end. As his father was so fond of saying, Malfoys only ever give in order to receive.

Draco chuckled dryly. He was going to exorcise whatever demon was currently taking up valuable real estate in his head on her orders, and rid himself of this ridiculous infatuation with Ginny Weasley once and for all.

"Yoo hoo! Draco, darling, are you ready? We'll be late."

Draco shuddered. _A whole evening of Pansy!_ _Bring on midnight. _

0 0 0 0 0

Harry stared at Ginny for about half a minute before she began to look distinctly uncomfortable, and he suddenly realised how stupid he must seem. As he moved forward to greet her, he marvelled at the calming effect she had on him. He had only to see her, and all of his other worries, and indeed the rest of the world, fell away and ceased to exist.

"Ginny," he said, as he drew closer, "you look...amazing."

She coloured prettily. "Thanks. You look nice too," she replied. Then, twirling her skirts, she added, "You like?"

Harry stepped back a little to take in their full effect, and Ginny turned a mock-pirouette, so that the slivers of amethyst shimmered and danced like so many miniature prima ballerinas. Losing her balance a little as she spun around on the narrow step, she pitched forward a little and would have fallen if Harry had not caught her. He smiled up at her as he released her. "Careful! Yes, they're very pretty. Where did you get them?"

Ginny giggled. _As if you don't know_, she thought. _Though if you want to play this game…_

"Early birthday present?" she replied, grinning, slightly mischievously.

Harry was a little mystified by her questioning tone but then, _The twins_, he thought. _Of course. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. They could hardly buy Ron a set and not get Ginny some too. I just hope they didn't tell her where the money originally came from. I don't want any of the Weasley family feeling obligated to me…but especially her._

He was surprised at how much easier this was than his disastrous date with Cho Chang. Yes, she was wearing posh robes and her hair was twisted up, but she was still just Ginny. If he did sometimes feel like he'd misplaced his internal organs when he was around her that was just part of her charm. With every passing second, he felt his earlier nervous nausea drift further and further away. Ginny knew who he was, so she could have no impossibly high expectations about the Boy Who Lived. She knew he was an appalling dancer, that he wasn't the world's greatest conversationalist, and that he had an awful temper sometimes. She had played a significant part in some of his adventures, and she knew how bad it could get. Yet she was still here, going to the Ball with him, in preference to any of the other boys who had asked her. That thought filled Harry with a new-found confidence, and turning to her, he grinned, gave a mock bow and offered her his arm, saying, "Shall we?"

She giggled again, he laughed out-loud for the first time in a week, and together they headed downstairs.

0 0 0 0 0

The teachers had decided to take a departure from the usual Halloween decorations this year, and the students who were already in the Great Hall gaped instead at the strings of crystals draped over the walls, which refracted rainbows of light from the stars above onto the upturned faces below.

Most of the people were enchanted, and chatted excitedly to their neighbours as their hair glowed pink, lilac, blue and green. A couple sat apart, however, who did not.

Cho had only noticed the crystalline lighting effect to complain to Marietta that it was spoiling the effect of her dress robes. Frankly, Marietta thought Cho's dress robes needed all the help they could get. Presumably, she had thought they would look exotic and cutting edge; in fact, they looked like someone had just taught the designer how to tie-dye, and he had been much too excited by the idea. Spindly spiders' webs of yellow cut swathes across the violet fabric, and when the green light hit Cho's face, it looked from a distance like she had vomited down herself. Watching other students' reactions to her friend's attire was doing much to save Marietta's evening.

Unsurprisingly, she did not have a date – the damned DA had seen to that. More shockingly, Cho did not have a partner either. In her eagerness to capture Harry once more, she had turned down a dozen other boys, and was now, in her own words, "suffering the injustice" of a girl two years her junior taking her place at Potter's side. As Marietta listened to Cho's whispered rant on the subject of the Weasleys, she wondered half-heartedly why Cho had never gone out with Malfoy. Then they could have lambasted the Weasleys together and saved her the utter boredom of being compelled to think of replies to Cho's nonsensical soliloquy.

She was about to nod once more and utter soothing nonentities of words when she realised Cho had stopped talking. Quickly looking up, she followed the other girl's line of vision to the doorway, where a couple was just appearing. Even from this distance, Marietta could see the wide smiles on both their faces, and then Ginny gestured wildly, illustrating a joke, and Harry threw back his head and laughed aloud. It struck Marietta that it had been quite a while since she had seen Harry laugh like that, with all his defences down, utterly uncaring of who was watching him and what they were thinking. _Uh-oh_, she thought, stomach sinking, _this does not bode well for my sanity. _As she turned to her friend and saw a slightly maniacal gleam in her eye, she instinctively felt it wouldn't be a good time to test Cho's either.

0 0 0 0 0

Hermione too, was not giving either the decorations or her date her full attention. Terry Boot was very nice, to be sure, but he was also fairly quiet and of a bookish disposition. A week ago, Hermione had thought it would be a welcome change from the harum-scarum attitude to life frequently exhibited by Ron and Harry, but now she was finding it a bit boring, which surprised her. In fact, she was thinking about her Friends-in-Disgrace altogether too much, but there wasn't much else to do really except marvel at the lighting arrangements once again, or wonder just how many billywigs Cho's tailor had consumed before fashioning those truly hideous robes, and how much the Seventh Year had been brainwashed into paying for them. So, she actually welcomed the arrival of Lavender and Parvati with a wide smile as they approached the table, having deposited their partners at the edge of a growing group of Gryffindor boys discussing Quidditch in loud voices. As they sat down, Terry spotted some Ravenclaws in the distance, and abruptly hurried off. _Too much oestrogen_, thought Hermione sarcastically, and felt ashamed of the relief she felt over his going.

Parvati sighed theatrically and prostrated herself across the table. "I'm starving! If I have to wait another minute for food I'm going to eat the flowers!"

Lavender laughed and, digging a mint out of her bag, handed it over.

"Oo-er," Parvati said as she unwrapped it. "Breath mints no less! What's on Lavender's mind, I wonder?"

Lavender blushed while Hermione arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Oh, it's a mint, for God's sake! Like I'm really interested in anyone other than...you know who."

As one the three girls turned to look in the direction of the Fifth Years' table, where Sally and Seamus sat in earnest conversation. Parvati patted Lavender's arm sympathetically, and Lavender sent her a weak smile before brusquely returning to business and saying, "Anyway, we've done enough talking about me over the last few weeks. What I really want to know is…why on earth Hermione has come to the Ball with such a complete bore!"

Parvati gaped at her best friend for a moment before they both dissolved into a fit of the giggles. Hermione couldn't decide whether to be affronted or join in. The laughing was very infectious, and she couldn't help wondering whether Lavender had picked up something of a telepathic vibe out of the 'energies' of The Smog Room, as she had unaffectionately termed Trelawney's attic classroom – she had herself been wondering the same thing about her choice of partner not five minutes before. In the end she opted for a silent smile and a wistful little sigh, which brought the tittering pair very effectively out of their hysterical convulsions. Hermione could only admire their ability to pick up on even the slightest signal that some juicy gossip might be about to be unleashed.

Moving round to either side of her so that they were both within easy hand-patting or shoulder-hugging distance, Parvati asked, "So…why?"

Hermione chewed half-heartedly at the side of her finger. "Because...he asked me."

The other two exchanged a glance over Hermione's bent head, before Lavender said, haltingly, "But what about…erm…Ron?"

Hermione's head snapped up. "What makes you think I'd want to come with Ron?" she demanded viciously.

"Well," replied Parvati, briskly, "apart from the fact that you bite anybody's head off who dares to suggest the idea, absolutely nothing at all." Taking in Hermione's downcast expression, she added, more softly, "What's going on with you two anyway?"

Hermione sighed. "God knows! Go stick your head around his bed curtains and ask him yourself. I'm sick of the whole damn thing! Oh God. Terry's decided to be brave. "

The other girls, wincing in sympathy, decided they would much rather not be there for his arrival, and departed with encouraging smiles, Parvati taking "a rose for the road" which earned her a hair-line fracture of a grin in the alabaster whiteness of Hermione's face.

Once they were a safe whispering distance from the table, Lavender turned to her friend and said, "I don't understand why Hermione doesn't just throw herself at his feet. It's more likely she'll fail Transfiguration than it is that Ron'll get round to asking her out sometime between now and her sixtieth birthday."

Parvati tried to look sage and wise, but it's hard when you're chewing a mouthful of petals at the same time. "She's too proud," she said knowingly, "You know Hermione. Everything's always on her terms."

Lavender nodded gloomily, then took a detour around a dozen tables to avoid one at which a sandy-haired Sixth Year was chatting animatedly and intimately with a pretty blonde Fifth Year. "I guess we aren't really the ones to be dolling out advice on love lives, are we?" she asked.

Parvati, who was surreptitiously keeping an eye on Dean from across the Hall, nodded in agreement and they headed over to greet Hannah Abbott and some other Hufflepuffs who had just walked in.

0 0 0 0 0

Harry and Ginny had both been unsure as to what they would find to talk about. Their shared summers at the Burrow were now taboo, thanks to the Ron-Harry rift, and Quidditch discussions had a certain mate-like quality which Harry for one wished to avoid. He had an intuitive feeling that it would be hard to strike the right "first date" note while debating the league possibilities of Chudley versus those of Portree, or the Harriers.

He soon found, however, that unlike his date with Cho, he didn't need to fix on a particular topic of conversation. Their light-hearted joking continued during their walk down to the Great Hall, and Harry felt as though he hadn't laughed this much in years. The worrying and agonising pain of the morning seemed aeons ago, and in another life. All that mattered at the moment was that Ginny was with him, giggling at his jokes, and smiling into his face when he glanced at her, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed. She had been looking pale in the last few days, he realised, but not tonight. Tonight she seemed to shimmer and glow with excitement and happiness.

As they walked into the Great Hall, she gasped at the decorations. The multi-hued light caused her robes to glitter into a rainbow of colour. Ginny spun the skirts of her robes slowly in her hands and watched as shafts of violet and yellow light rioted around her. He was just thinking that she looked like a Muggle's idealised version of a fairy, when she met his gaze, arched a sardonic eyebrow, and said, "I'm a human disco ball."

Harry threw back his head and burst out laughing, glad for one night to forget all his worries about the future, and enjoy the moment. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he had simply lived for now – he wasn't sure he ever had. At Privet Drive, life was lived for the escape which might come tomorrow; at Hogwarts, there had always been the concern for what tomorrow might bring. If he had dared to tempt fate by looking so far into the future, and ignoring the vast dangers that lay between him and it, he might have thought, _This is how my life will be, when the war is over._

As it was, he sighed a little internally, then summoned up some deep well of courage, shut his eyes and grasped blindly for Ginny's hand. He found it, her fingers squeezed his reassuringly, and blushing ever so slightly, Harry began to lead her gingerly through the crowd towards a distant empty table, which was no easy task.

It seemed as though every chattering student was present for the express reason of waving hello to one of them, or prodding Ginny on the arm to ask her where she had got her exquisite robes (a point on which, Harry noted, neither he nor Ginny seemed to be very clear; her half-concealed pointed glances in his direction, and girls' murmured awwws left him a little bemused).

It was only after Harry had carefully guided Ginny into her seat, as he knew a gentleman should, and sat down on his own chair, that he heard an Irish brogue from over his left shoulder, and realised their proximity to the slighted Seamus, and Sally, his second choice. Any chance of an evening alone successfully made a bid for freedom through a nearby window, as Harry's fellow Gryffindor Sixth Year spotted his friend and hastened over to take the spare seats at their table, with Sally following.

"Evening, Harry. Evening, Ginny," said Seamus jovially, eager to show there were no hard feelings on his side as he guided Sally into her seat next to her friend and sat down himself. Seeing Sally had already engaged Ginny in earnest conversation, Seamus turned to Harry and asked, "So, what do you make of Chudley's chances this season then?"

Harry felt like weeping.

0 0 0 0 0

Ron had walked quickly past the wide-open doors to the Great Hall, a thin, tall, dark silhouette contrasting sharply with the bubbly brightness of the room within. He climbed the stairs two at a time, and when he reached the common room he strode straight through, looking neither right nor left, not wanting to see the looks of pity mingled with irritation leaving their marks on the puppy-fat of the younger students' faces. Once he had shut the dormitory door behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief, then flung himself backwards onto his bed.

He had been there for half an hour now, silently watching the figures in the photograph pinned to his bedside table. It had been taken one summer at the Burrow; possibly third year, Ron wasn't really sure. They had been on a picnic, and Ron lounged half-asleep across a checked blanket, shading his eyes with his arm and snoring softly. Hermione was sat next to him, her eyes shifting from him, to Harry, then back again, every once in a while smiling a little shyly at the camera. She hated having her picture taken. Harry was stood, remonstrating with Fred, who was taking the picture. Ron thought he could remember a lot of laughter that afternoon, but it was hard to see. Harry's face was half in shadow, and his outline shaded Hermione's eyes, and Ron's own mouth. Ginny was sitting away to the left, back to a tree, knees drawn up under her chin. She was wearing sunglasses and was peering over at the group on the grass, but she stayed where she was. Ron didn't remember seeing much of her. They'd gone swimming afterwards, diving into the lake from rocky outposts, or jumping from a rope swing, reckless and breathless and elated. When they'd got back to the food, ants had carried much of it away; and Ginny was still sitting there, watching.

Ron let his eyes slide away from the picture to the bed behind it. The curtains were drawn; only Harry always kept his curtains drawn. As though he needed to know he had a private space somewhere; something no-one else could touch. Only, someone could…

He had been wakened that morning by a loaded silence that could only mean one thing; Harry, in trouble. He hardly ever made a sound, barely even a whimper for the pain which made his scar stand out livid on his forehead, as beads of sweat stood out there too. Ron had been living too long with him not to be able to interpret every little non-existent sound though; every rustle of sheets which meant a renewed onslaught. So he had known that morning, and he had seen the stiff curtains move against the draft, then fall away. He knew that Harry had cried out for him, and he had done nothing.

He had put it out of his head all day, the sickness in his stomach which told him he had let down his best friend, but it would not go away. The half a foot gap between the two mattresses was still the same distance; the argument wasn't enough to drive them completely apart…was it?

In his heart Ron knew it wasn't. They were best mates, they'd been through worse than this, and they always stuck together. Harry would doubt it though, perhaps. He'd had too few things go his way in his life to confidently expect everything to be alright in the end. For a half a second, Ron wished he could cling to his pride, refuse to make the first move, and have Harry apologise to him instead. Then the Voice of Reason, which had an annoying habit of sounding just like Hermione at her most preachy, told him that it had all been his own stupid fault anyway, so why didn't he just go and grovel and get it all over with, so they could all be friends again?

Ron sighed and rolled off the bed onto the floor with a thump. _Why does she always have to be right?_

0 0 0 0 0

Ginny caught Harry's eye over the table, and sent a lop-sided grin his way. The evening clearly wasn't going the way he had planned it, and truth-be-told, it wasn't exactly shaping up to be the night she had imagined either. While Sally whispered earnestly into her ear about how upset Lavender had looked, and how awful she felt for being here with Seamus, when it was obvious they just wanted to be together, he and Harry had been joined by Dean and Neville and such a loud Quidditch discussion was emerging that Quidditch HQ, which they had passed on the way in, looked like migrating over to their side of the hall too.

It had continued this way all through the feast, and Ginny began to despair of their ever being alone again for the rest of the night, when the lights dimmed and the music began to play. Seizing her opportunity, she patted Sally's hand one more time, whispering back, "I'm going to go and talk to Harry for a bit? Will you be alright?"Sally smiled. "Of course I'll be fine! Go get him, tiger."

Harry felt like sliding under the table and never emerging when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice in his ear said, "If you're planning on doing a runner by sliding under the table, you'll regret it tomorrow." The dimness was doing wonders for Ginny's confidence.

Harry smiled up at her, and the other boys gave each other sly glances and melted away. "I take it you've got a better escape plan?"

Ginny shrugged. "Well, I know you hate dancing but the music's alright, and there's no spotlight on you tonight so…"

He grinned. It was true he had hated dancing, but then he'd never danced with Ginny. Somehow everything seemed different with her, as though he was experiencing the world for the first time all over again, by her side. He stood up, and proffered his arm to take her, in the old-fashioned way they had been acting all evening, onto the dance floor. She slipped her arm through his, and soon they were among the swaying couples in front of the stage.

Ginny sighed a little in contentment. Yes, it had been a little awkward at first, with Harry not too sure where to put his hands until she had guided one to her hip and held the other firmly in her own, and he really wasn't an excellent waltzer, but she'd known that anyway. It didn't preclude it being fun, and compared to Neville who, with the best will in the world, had ruined her shoes and made her lame for three days, dancing with Harry was a dream…or close to it.

In her more emotional moments, Ginny might briefly have thought that Harry, as he spun her steadily around the dance floor, back straight and feet more-or-less in time, was the boy in her dream. Lucidly, she recognised he wasn't. He watched his feet too much, his hands shook slightly and were a bit clammy, and his rigid four-step precluded giving themselves up completely to the beat and rhythm of the music.

It didn't matter though. Ginny knew the dangers of imagination and half-real boys with charm, grace and devilish good looks on their side. _Devilish being the important word! _

Glancing up to the High Table, Ginny saw Dumbledore and McGonagall nodding approvingly in their general direction, and felt angry with herself. _If you spent years wanting this yourself_, she berated herself, _and everybody else wants it so much, why can't you be a little more enthusiastic yourself?_

She was more than a tad confused. She and Harry were clearly having a great time, there was laughter and jokes and friendly banter, and occasionally, that old accustomed fluttery feeling in her stomach when she caught him looking at her in a particular way. She tried to grasp it and keep it there, to be as excited by the prospect of herself and Harry as everyone else seemed to be. But it was elusive, as all the best butterflies are, and she could only assume that if she let it become accustomed to her, she could catch it off-guard and then everything would make sense again.

The music slowed, and Ginny moved closer to Harry as he put both hands unsteadily round her waist. She leant against his shoulder and was just beginning to feel the first tingles of the mysterious butterflies return, when Harry muttered,

"It's too crowded. Do you want to go for a walk?"

Ginny blushed a little. Everyone knew what couples went outside for, away from the prying eyes of the teachers. They retrieved their cloaks and were heading towards the doors, Ginny positioning her hand just close enough so that Harry wouldn't have to work up his nerve too much to make a grab for it, when a boy appeared in front of them.

"Harry, Dumbledore'd like a word with you," said Colin Creevey, breathlessly.

Harry frowned. "Great timing as usual," he muttered to Ginny. "I'd best go see what he wants. I'll only be a minute. Where will you be?"

"Oh, I'll head outside anyway. You're right, it's too hot in here. On one of the benches around the corner?"

Harry grinned. "See you in ten minutes."

0 0 0 0 0

If Ron had been nervous before leaving the dormitory, it was nothing to how he felt as he entered the Great Hall. He felt hideously underdressed, and wished he'd thought to put on his new dress robes, of which he was very proud, before coming down. That would've looked like he was staying though, and he wasn't. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

Then he looked up and saw Harry looking at him from the High Table. He didn't look much like Harry. His face was a carefully prepared mask; a portcullis that had taken years of construction had slammed down hard over his emotions. His eyes were hard, but slid away from Ron's when he tried to engage them, like slivers of glass on a silken sheet. So he just stood there, feeling stupid, as Harry turned and continued his conversation with Dumbledore.

He had half a mind to turn right round and go back upstairs when he felt a soft tap on his arm and turned to see Hermione smiling up at him.

"You came to apologise?"

Ron sighed. "Why is it always me who has to grovel?"

Hermione laughed. "Because, social high-flyer that you are, it's always you who starts these things off!"

Ron ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "I don't even know why I did with this one. It was like someone else was controlling my speech, you know?" He took in Hermione's dress robes, and coughed, a trifle flustered. "You look…nice."

She coloured prettily. "Thanks. I would say you do too, but…you just got out of bed, didn't you?"

Ron blushed. "So, how's the date with _Terry_ going then?"

Hermione cocked her head on one side and looked at him questioningly. "You know, sometimes I just don't understand you, Ron- Oh, Harry's coming over. Be very crawly!"

"Oi, don't leave me! Hermione!" But she had moved back into the crowd, and was now looking on with all the appearance of disinterest. Ron pulled a face at her and turned back to his other friend.

"Alright, Harry?" said Ron, falsetto-cheeriness grating on the ears.

Harry shrugged, and grimaced a little, which could have indicated any of an infinite list of feelings.

_God. He's not going to make this easy for me, is he?_

"Look, I wanted to talk to you about Ginny-"

"And I've already told you," cut in Harry, savagely, "that it's really none of your business. Anyway, it's a bit late to be voicing objections now - we're already here!"

"Yes, I know that," said Ron. "Where is she, by the way?"

Harry gestured towards the door. "Outside."

A reasonable audience had gathered by this point, a large portion of it Slytherins wanting to see the Gryffindor Golden Trio finally fall into pieces. Up until now they had been a little disappointed with the turn of events, but it was soon to change.

"Outside? My sister? Alone? While you're in here happy as Larry with Cho and the rest of your-"

With Harry looking like he was approaching melting point again, and Ron losing control, Hermione judged it the perfect time to move in, take control and remind the other two why they were friends with her even if she could be annoying. Striding forwards, she grabbed Ron's shirt and pulled him backwards, simultaneously moving him out of Harry's reach, and stopping him from talking.

"Right," she said, and without even realising it, the two boys exchanged looks; Hermione was in Schoolmarm mode, "this has gone far enough. Ron, Harry, you're both going on and on about who cares most about Ginny but what are you both doing in here, when she's sitting out there on her own?"

"That's what I was trying to say," spoke out Ron, indignantly.

Hermione looked indulgently at him. "No, Ron, you were babbling again."

While he was absorbed in looking enraged and affronted, Hermione continued, "You came down here for the express purpose of doing some very cathartic grovelling so I suggest you do so."

"Harry," said Ron, looking over at his friend serious-faced, "I am so sorry. I don't know what possessed me to say those things to you and-"

Suddenly Harry didn't want to hear it. He had thought he was so hurt by it all, and he had been upset, but not as much as living without Ron had made him. For one horrible week, he'd felt almost completely alone.

"It's fine, Ron, really. It's all in the past."

"No, mate, really, I can't apologise enough-"

Harry laughed. "Ron, you just did apologise enough! Give over, will you?"

Ron stopped, blushing. "Thanks, Harry."

He held out his hand, and Harry shook it in a very masculine way, before Hermione cried out, "Boys!" and, throwing an arm around the two boys' necks, drew them into a Trio hug.

Pansy was stood towards the back of the on-looking group of Slytherins, and her expression soured as the separate ones became Three once more.

"Well, if that little display of Gryffindor sickly-sweetness hasn't put a damper on my evening, I don't know what will. Draco, darling, could you get me some more pumpkin juice? … Draco?"

She turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who, as usual, were standing guard close by. "Where did Draco go off to?"

Crabbe pointed at the door. "He went out. Said we weren't to let anyone disturb him."

Pansy pulled her face into an expression of disgusted disbelief –not easy without much practice in front of shiny surfaces – and set off to find Blaise Zabini. The poor boy had been pestering her all night for a dance, and Draco deserved punishment.

_And he purports to be so well-bred_, she thought indignantly. _Money certainly doesn't buy you manners._

0 0 0 0 0

Ginny stood and looked out over the lake where the twinned moons moved, slowly and by degrees, further and further away from each other; one arching upwards into the velvet sky, the other sinking into an unfathomed darkness peopled by creatures and beings unknown.

The lake appeared flat on the surface, but the sway of the reeds around the edge betrayed underwater currents, eddies swirling in mysterious patterns that she could make no sense of. The night was absolutely silent, and Ginny drank in the peace after the raucous noise inside.

So taken up was she in the moonscape before her, she didn't hear a side-door to the castle open behind her, and the person passing through was careful to push it to without making a sound. The first Ginny knew that someone had joined her was the crunch of a footstep on the gravel and then, before she could turn round, a pair of hands hovering hesitatingly around her waist.

She smiled to herself, and thought how sweet he was to be so nervous. Truth be told, a short while ago she had been feeling anxious herself but now she was a little out of herself and not scared at all. A small part of herself was astonished at her brazenness as she reached for Harry's hands and pulled them snugly around her waist, and he leant in and kissed her, softly, just where her throat curved into her shoulder. She sighed happily as she watched a band of cloud sneak over both moons in synchrony, and cloak them in a secretive darkness.

_This is just the night for secret trysts_, Ginny thought as the gloaming became midnight. _This is a night for highwaymen, and pirates and goblin markets…and first kisses. _

Loosening her hold on Harry's hands, she pivoted in his arms until she was facing him and slowly moved her own arms up and around his neck, pulling him down to her at the same time as his hands tightened on her hips, guiding his lips to hers.

He was wearing aftershave, something Ginny had never known him do before, and she smiled slightly against his mouth as she thought about the lengths he had gone to try and impress her, as if he really needed to try to impress anyone. It was tangy and refreshing, like a splash of icy cold water, or a blast of sea air, and she inhaled it deeply as Harry's hands moved up from her waist to her hair, pulling out the silver comb and threading his fingers through her russet-gold curls. It seemed as though her senses were heightened; she thought she could hear Fang howl from Hagrid's hut, and then an answering call from the chicken roosts, as a cockerel crowed once… twice… three times.

A castle door slammed suddenly, sounding surprisingly close in the darkness, and Ginny jumped a little and pulled slightly away, as the moon, and its reflection, emerged from the shadows which had hidden them. She watched, aghast, as the silvery-white light gleamed onto a silvery-blonde head, not tinted by the moon's rays but merely lightened to whiteness. She continued to gape as Draco Malfoy let his hands fall away from her and smirked.

Draco maintained his indifferent mask while underneath he was a terrifying tempest of emotion. If only she would blaze at him, smack him, or look remotely ugly, perhaps he could shake off this ridiculous infatuation with her and once again view her as the youngest, and most depressed looking, of the Weasley herd; a stolid piece of poverty-stricken mediocrity and destined never to leave that behind.

Instead, she merely stared at him, mouth open, cheeks flushed, lips a deep burgundy-red from the pressure of his own pushing against them. Her hair was positively wild and spilt over her shoulders in reckless abandon of its owner's safety; she looked to be drowning in it, and her breath was still a little ragged from their tryst. As he watched her, a blush began at the base of her throat, from exactly the spot where he had first kissed her, and spread with surprising rapidity to her hairline.

"Malfoy?" she said finally, clearly astonished. "Oh my God…I mean, I didn't…well, that is I _did, _but …_why_?"

Draco shrugged languidly. "You practically threw yourself at me, what was I supposed to do?"

Ginny's mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times, and then her flushed cheeks turned an even darker red, her eyes sparkled dangerously and she looked him squarely in the eye for the first time since jumping out of his arms. Draco began to think that taunting her may not have been so good an idea.

"Excuse me?" said Ginny, her voice now icy-cold. "_Threw_ myself at you? I'm sorry, I mean, really, how silly of me to think that the boy who comes and puts his arms round me on a moonlit night must be my boyfr..err, that is, my date. Really I should have checked first – clearly it was just stupid not to expect it to be one of the people I HATE MOST in all the world!"

Draco flinched at the unexpected high volume finish. He hated raised voices; it was so uncouth, and so…alarming. He had noted Ginny's little Freudian slip with a barely perceptible frown. You had to know what to look for to see it. A slight dip in the right eyebrow; a drawing of the bottom lip ever so slightly over the lower teeth, a little flaring of the nostrils. Ginny had seen it, but thought it was an expression of distaste. Her estimations of Draco sank even lower.

He was grateful for her anger though. It was fletching arrow after arrow of flighted insults, straight, true and unstoppable. Every time one left her mouth, Draco felt a small, silver bullet of anger settle in the pit of his stomach.

What right had she, a filthy Muggle-lover, a straggly gosling draped in the peacock's finery of his own providing, to stand there and abuse _him_? If it had not been for his charity, she would've been wearing her moth-eaten mother's robes, no doubt, and remained the wallflower she had always been, before he came along.

Draco could feel the mercurial ire dissipating from the nugget sunk in his belly, flooding his veins, cloaking his other emotions. _Alright Weasley, you're doing great. Home stretch!_

He yawned lazily, and stretched his hands above his head, cat-like. "The way I see it, it's the Malfoy way: Make love and be merry, for tomorrow you may catch a disgusting skin disease."

"I've got my fingers crossed," Ginny spat back, moving further away from him and tucking her hair roughly into the neck of her gown to stop it blowing across her face. "Seriously, Malfoy, what the hell were you doing? You know I'm here with Harry, and you know I hate your guts!"

Two strikes in as many seconds; the Weaslette knew her stuff. Before he could react to them, or take account of the other nuggets of metallic coldness settling snugly near his navel, she looked at him shrewdly and added, "Has this got anything to do with why you've been stalking me all year?"

Draco nearly choked, then sneered and said, "Don't flatter yourself, Weasley. Why would I follow you?"

"You tell me, 'cos it's either you or your identical twin brother who's been trailing me round school since day one. Why?"

Draco just looked at her, and said, "Well, did you ever consider the idea that someone _wants _you to think that I'm following you? I mean, anyone could be Polyjuicing into me for an hour a day to trail after the cheap and tacky perfume of what can only be a Weasley."

The next moment, Ginny's wand was pointing at his throat; her hand was not shaking even slightly.

"Oh please, how bloody stupid do you think I am? Someone is going through your dirty linen to find…hair, or scales or, ugh, whatever, just to Polyjuice into you for _one hour_ to try and freak me out? Well, all it's done is Piss. Me. Off." She broke off to grin lopsidedly as she saw Draco gulp, "Admit it, you _have_ been following me, and tonight you _have_ assaulted me, and you know, to me that only suggests one thing…."

Draco motioned for her to lower her wand. He was so annoyed with himself for gulping he could have cheerfully cursed himself into oblivion, but truth be told, as soon as she had stood before him, eyes blazing, wand outstretched, all those bullets of metal sunk into his gut seemed to be attempting to be regurgitated as little pink, Pansy-esque love hearts. He pulled himself together internally, and contorted his face into a look of disgust.

"If _you_ are suggesting," he scoffed, grazing her figure with his eyes, his lip curling, "that I in any way find you attractive, you need even more mental help than I gave you credit for. If you, me, and this rock," he nudged a stone on the ground with the toe of his boot, "were the only things left on this planet, and it was our sacred duty to go forth and multiply, I would be attempting the biologically impossible with an inanimate piece of carbon.

"You're nothing to me; you're empty space dressed in borrowed finery-"

Ginny lifted her chin, defiantly. "They aren't borrowed. Harry got them for me."

She was interrupted by a snort of laughter. "Potter? You think _Potter_ bought them? Oh yes, I can just see Mr. Rag Bag knowing just which colour and cut to buy you, and getting them delivered over-night by _my_ owl."

Ginny had returned to a carpet expression of mingled disbelief, embarrassment and wariness. _It had never really made sense before anyway, had it? The little hints that Harry didn't understand; a secret gift of clothing, a subject on which he knew almost nothing; Malfoy always ten footsteps behind her…_

"Why?" she asked, uncertainty causing her to hug herself around her middle. Draco leant in close to her, his breath stroking her jaw-line as he whispered, "That's the _real_ reason for all this. After all, Malfoys never give but to receive."

He pressed a cold, hard, sharp kiss onto her unfeeling cheek, then strode away.

If Ginny had been paying attention, she might have noticed Draco's shoulders slump slightly, and his footsteps falter as he moved further from her, but her eyes were swimming with tears and her vision blurred as she turned quickly and looked back out over the water, the moons only smudges of white on a black canvas.

She felt dirty; used. She wanted nothing more than to rip off those sparkling silken robes whose dancing, glitter slivers of ballerinas seemed to mock her as they pivoted and twirled. She felt as though the flecks of lights against her skin were marking her as his, and she wasn't. She refused to be. She would never be some man's possession. Not again.

It was there that Harry found her ten minutes later, but with sickly pale skin and dark smudges under her eyes, which Harry as a fashion unconscious, did not realise was mascara. She pleaded a headache and he escorted her back up to the dormitories, earning them a few wolf-whistles on the way, which Ginny was too tired and disheartened to take offence to.

At the foot of the girls' stairs, where they had stood only a few hours before, Ginny again paused two steps up and looked down at him. He looped his arms loosely round her waist and said, "Are you going to be OK, Gin? Shall I get Nat or-"

She smiled down at him, tiredly and, was that a tinge of sadness in the depths of her eyes. It was fleeting, but it brought a worried frown to his forehead. She mock-frowned back at him, and answered, "I'll be fine, Harry. I just need to lie down for a bit and I'll be alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

It was a statement, not a question, and not vague. Harry's heart leapt a little in his chest, so that he somehow summoned the nerve to dart forward and plant a quick kiss in the corner of her mouth before turning and heading towards the boys' dormitories, smiling back over his shoulder at her.

Harry slept peacefully that night, the dreamless sleep of a person whose worries are buried too deep beneath a burning happiness to disturb their slumber. Ginny, meanwhile, pulled the curtains shut around her bed and lay staring, unseeingly, at the underside of the canopy, listening to the other girls as they tip-toed in and settled into bed much later, then counting their snores until the early hours of the morning when she finally drifted off into uneasy sleep, trying to avoid thinking about Draco Malfoy, and that other boy whose memory he had evoked from so long ago.

Draco himself undressed hurriedly in his bedchamber, hurling his dress robes as far as possible away from him into the darkest corner of the room and sliding between the cold sheets scowling. Tossing and turning in the semi-darkness as the moon peeped slyly in through a gap in the green velvet curtains, he didn't drift off for hours because the feel of a warm body in his arms and the pressure of a certain pair of lips against his own kept floating into his mind and flattening his anger.

_That didn't go according to plan at all, did it?_

**QUOTES**

**"Make love and be merry, for tomorrow you may catch some disgusting skin disease" Blackadder**

**AND...**

**Thank you to all my fabulous reviewers for keeping me going during the last couple of months. I really appreciate that you have taken the time to review Missing Link! descent into R level smutlove for teh reviewers**

**Please keep up the good work and I promise you...what should I promise you? Review and let me know!**


End file.
